


Rule Number One

by CassieSalvatore_Hale



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieSalvatore_Hale/pseuds/CassieSalvatore_Hale
Summary: You've barely been surviving since you'd heard about his death. What happens when you come home to your flat and hear the piano being played?
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Reader
Kudos: 66





	Rule Number One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own BBC nor Sherlock. Hope you enjoy. Unbetad and all mistakes are my own.

You practically stumble into your flat, exhausted, and starving. Your first priority is definitely making a cuppa, then maybe making food. You may just go to bed without eating. You've done that a lot ever since he'd died.

You make your way to the kitchen, blindly, as you have yet to turn on a light. You don't need them. You know your flat quite well and the light simply hurts your eyes these days.

It's easy to make tea in the dark, as you've done it plenty of times; however, just as you're about to take your first sip, you freeze. You can hear soft notes of music being gently carried down the steps from your music room. You recognize the instrument, as well as the song.

You silently stand as if in a trance, making your way to the stairs. You slowly ascend the stairs, the music steadily getting louder as you walk. Your heart is pounding and your palms are sweaty. It's difficult to breathe right now.

You eventually stop at the landing, right in front of the door to the music room; it's ajar. You catch the faint scent of _him_ and hesitate before pushing the door open. It doesn't make a sound. The only light in the room comes from the windows, the curtains pulled tight, but little slivers of light still find their way through. Despite the darkness, you can see just fine, which means you can see the man sitting on the bench and playing his instrument beautifully.

You don't think he's noticed you until he stops playing abruptly, turning to see you and your breath catches in your throat. It's too dark to see his eyes, but you know that it's him. He stands swiftly, gracefully, and your chest aches at the sight of him.

Before you're even aware that you've moved, he's in your arms. You're breathing in that distinct scent that is uniquely him, even if you can still smell the cologne he's wearing. He seems to hesitate, as if surprised, before his arms wind around you and he's hugging you back.

"I told you I'd come back for you." His voice is oddly soft, gentle almost. And yes, he had, but reading it in a letter and seeing it with your own eyes were two completely different things.

"I know. And I never lost hope. It just...it hurt. Every day was like you'd actually done it, like you'd _really_ died. I missed you."

Prior to this moment, he would've felt awkward and covered it up with smugness but the emotion he heard in your voice stopped him. He could hear how worried you'd been for him. How much you truly missed him. And...how much you loved him.

"Rule number one," He pulls back just enough to look at you. When you avoid his gaze, you feel fingers gently but firmly grip your chin, tilting your head up. You stare up at him, just barely making out the soft smile on his lips.

"Never underestimate Moriarty." You finish the sentence and are barely given time to question what he's going to do before his mouth is pressed against yours. It's gentler than you always imagined, and boy had you _imagined this_. It's gentle, firm, possessive, and passionate all at once. It somehow just feels _right._

You don't hesitate to kiss back, matching everything he gives. Warmth spreads in your chest, affection and pure love welling up inside you. You pull away at the same time he does, panting softly.

You know he's done terrible things. You know he will continue to do terrible things. As you look up at him, you can't find it in you to care about that. All you know is that his dark eyes are shining with the same affection and love that you feel. And that you want to spend forever by his side.

When he leads you to your bedroom, you don't even hesitate, following obediently. You're surprised when all he wants is to lay down and hold you. He must see the surprise, because he chuckles and smiles. Your breath catches in your throat because it's not that deadly smile that you've seen him give people before they turn up dead. It's small but bright, lighting up the dark room like the very moon that shines in the sky.

"You look exhausted. Thought you might enjoy a bit of sleep."

You smile back at him and nod, changing into a tank top and fluffy pants. He changes into a pair of sweats, and while the image of him shirtless and waiting in your bed is sexy, you really are exhausted from the emotional onslaught of seeing him again. So you just climb into the bed, happily snuggling with him, your head resting on his chest.

You just listen to his heartbeat, letting it relax you as it reminds you that he's real, he's there, he's _alive_. You feel lips press to the top of your head and his chest rumbles when he speaks.

"Sleep, kitten. I'm not going anywhere."

You let your eyes slip closed, his arms warm around you, and his heartbeat lulling you into the only peaceful sleep you've gotten since you'd heard about his death.


End file.
